Children of Heaven
by Nina Grey
Summary: AU. In the aftermath of Armageddon, a group of Vatican agents must work to defend the peace, even as the threat of another war between Terrans and Methuselah looms. The newest of these agents, Sister Naomi Kent, harbors a secret that stretches back to the days of the fallen Watchers, a secret that could prove to be her gift...or her curse. AbelxOC, some GyulaxOC.
1. Prologue

_Author's Note:_ _This is a "novel-length" version of a role-play my best friend and I are working on. This is alternate universe, and as such creative liberties will be taken. Elements from the manga and the light novels are present, but a majority of the influence is from the anime. I own only fan characters/original characters; the canon (c) Yoshida et al._

* * *

Prologue

Virgil had arrived at Buckingham Palace as soon as he had heard the news. The queen had reached the end of her time on this earth; the doctors were anticipating a quick, peaceful death, though they had been surprised that she had clung to the final thread this long. She would not rest, she said, until Virgil had promised her to find the angel.

He was led to the queen's chambers at once. Tall, pale, and fair-haired, Virgil Walsh could have easily passed as a relative of the royal family rather than a noble. Upon entering the chambers, he was greeted by the heavy, stale smell of illness and impending death. On her death bed, the queen had already begun taking on a pallor, her eyes sunken and her cheekbones very prominent. Her grey hair formed a pillow about her head, a pale halo crowning her in anticipation of her passing.

As he neared the bed, she slowly opened her eyes. Hazy with fatigue and illness, she could barely find the faculties to form the words. He sat down on the edge of the bed, grasping her hands. They were cold, ice cold, and felt so fragile he was frightened of breaking them.

"Edward is dead," she said, her voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "There is only one hope left for the throne."

"My queen?"

"Find her," she rasped, as if in desperation. "Find the Angel of Albion. She still lives, I know it."

"Where will I find her?"

The queen's pale, sickly face arranged itself into lines of sadness and regret. "I do not know. She was taken to a convent, that was all I was told. The exact location was never revealed to me."

Virgil watched her steadily, but tenderly. This task was not going to be a simple one. Regina was the queen's granddaughter, and had been taken out of Albion after her father, Prince Edward, had been assassinated - under the orders, Virgil assumed, of the Rosenkreuz. Her location was known by very few people, and they had been sworn to secrecy on pain of death. She was marked for death by the Order, that much he knew; they were not so stupid as to think she was dead.

"Find her," the queen rasped again. "Find her, bring her to Albion, and protect her. The Rosenkreuz Order must not find her."

Virgil nodded. "I will. I swear it."

At this she seemed relieved. She relaxed, and with a soft sigh, fell into eternal slumber.


	2. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Please forgive my longer-than-planned hiatus. I am in school again, and as such I don't have as much time as I would like to write. This chapter is based on the first chapter of Rage Against the Moon Volume 1's prologue. All characters, except for those who do not appear in any of the canon, belong to Yoshida et al._

* * *

Chapter 1

_Twenty Years Later_

The pain exploded in her head like a thousand guns firing simultaneously. With a groan, Sister Naomi Kent sat slowly upright, dazed. With the slightest movement her body protested, and she could not repress a wince as she drew herself upwards. It was dark and cold, but the faint remnants of incense and candle smoke still hung in the air from the evening mass only a few hours previously. The darkness was broken by the moonlight filtering in through the beautiful, ancient stained-glass windows, causing soft colors to play across the marble floor.

She tried to move, but found her wrists were bound in irons. Her back was pressed against something cold and hard, and she could feel the intricately-carved reliefs through her habit. The altar. Why was she chained to the altar? Any attempts to call out for help proved futile, as she discovered she was gagged as well.

Then she remembered.

She had been struck from behind while she was returning from the private chapel in the back of the church. She had not even heard the footsteps, but she had felt a presence, a strange one she had never before felt. She had not been afforded the chance to turn round to see who it had been.

Suddenly a voice, that of an elderly man - soft, gentle, and reverent of the ritual he was conducting - began to softly echo through the sanctuary. He was speaking in Latin, reciting the ancient holy Mass that had been passed down for centuries. Of course she knew it, but at this moment, it had taken on a sacrilegious meaning. The desecration of the Church's traditions was blasphemy, yet this elderly priest who now murmured it seemed not to be even phased by it.

She knew that voice. Father Alexander Scott; he had been a priest here for as long as she could have remembered, yet he had disappeared a month before. He had returned, and this time she knew he had changed for the worst - he was now thoroughly damned, and if he was aware of his fate, he seemed not to care.

Indeed, why should he? Methuselah had such long lifespans that there was plenty of time for atonement if he chose to take the opportunity.

"This meal I have prepared," Father Scott whispered, "is my body. On this most holy night, I give thanks."

Her eyes widened and her pulse quickened, pounding in her ears like rushing water, as he approached her.

"Sister Kent, as always, you have the patience of a saint. But alas, it's time for the Last Supper." His tone was somber, yet there was a glint in his eyes that told her he was feeling anything but solemn.

She struggled against her bindings as she caught a metallic reflection in the moonlight. In his weathered hand was an intricately carved blade, one that he had used countless times in Communion before his transformation. Its beautiful edges and carvings, however, were now tarnished and bloodstained.

"Take this bread, for it is my flesh."

With utmost care and precision he cut her veil from her head. The ripping of the fabric seemed to reverberate through the cold silence of the sacred edifice. His icy fingers trailed down her fair skin. Her stomach lurched with revulsion and she turned her head away from his touch. Her body had tensed, and she struggled again against the iron fetters.

"Now, now, Sister Kent, you should be honored to have such a position in this holy rite," the elderly priest said, clicking his tongue lightly against the roof of his mouth. He leaned forward, his breath rank and hot against her cheek, and continued, "You will become a part of me, Naomi. Your blood will live in an eternal night. Can't you hear it already? The sound of your sweet, intoxicating essence flowing forever through my veins?"

He flashed a wicked smile at her. Long, sharp fangs, stark white against the darkness that concealed his face, caressed his lips. He could hear her heart pounding. That delicious source of nourishment, he could hear every beat reverberating, echoing endlessly inside his skull. His every fiber began to thrum with her rhythm. She was a frightened doe, this beautiful nun, looking at him with widened eyes and a pounding heart. She would make an excellent feast.

"Take this wine, for it is my blood." He sighed wistfully as he drew the knife across her white breast, just enough to draw blood. "Oh, my angel, you are beautiful, aren't you? Your beauty should not be ephemeral - no, I should make you mine…after this rite…bring you into the darkness."

He paused momentarily, however, as he caught sight and scent of it. Her blood had a strange color to it, so unlike all the others. In the moonlight, her essence had taken on a strange, slightly golden tint. It smelled sweeter than any others. Was this that infamous ambrosia the gods of old so loved?

A very excellent feast, he thought. Excellent indeed!

He leaned forward to catch that sweet ambrosia on his tongue, to lick it from that soft, fair flesh-

_"Ite miss est._ Mass is over, Father Scott."

Both Naomi and Father Scott froze, and the Methuselah whirled round. Just beyond the pews, draped in shadow, stood a tall gentleman. Even Father Scott's extraordinary senses did not detect him. How had he-?

Naomi had barely sensed this stranger's presence, but his presence did not carry the same malevolence that Father Scott's had. No, this stranger's presence, his aura as the occultists would say, was comforting, yet it belied unspeakable, almost otherworldly power.

The man's voice, commanding yet not arrogant, rang out: "Father Alexander Scott, priest of St. Patrick's Cathedral of Londinium, in the name of the Trinity, you are hereby under arrest for seven counts of murder and blood extortion."

"Who in the hell are you?"

"Forgive me. I come from the Vatica-"

It was a fatal mistake to allow the Methuselah that much courtesy - indeed, any courtesy. Instantaneously, Father Scott flung the knife at the stranger at impossible speed. The tarnished blade barely glinted in the silver moonlight. Father Scott's aim was true, and the knife buried itself squarely in the stranger's chest. Naomi tried to scream, but the gag prevented anything more than a choked sob from escaping her lips.

"I don't know who you think you are, but how dare you interrupt my holy rite!" Father Scott hissed. "It was foolish to barge in on the living dead, my son." Suddenly, much to Naomi's repulsion and horror, the priest began to laugh. His shoulders trembled with his mirth, causing his white garb to ripple. His fangs were poking out again, that stark, cold white against the veil of darkness. His laughter was shrill, shattering the silence with its unholy echoes.

"Foolish of you, Father, to think that I would fall so easily." The knife was buried deep in the man's heart, yet he stood there, completely unfazed.

"How the hell-?"

"I heard one of your sermons once, Father," the man murmured regretfully, solemnly. "You preached that humans are the only beings capable of believing in themselves. Your faith made me want to show you compassion. However…"

He trailed off as his eyes met hers. She did not see them, but she could feel them burning into hers. It was not an unwelcome sensation; indeed, it calmed her somewhat, soothed her fears. She shivered. Though this time, it was from neither cold nor fear.

"Are you a vampire too?" Father Scott's cold voice, no longer masked behind feigned piety, broke the contact, causing both the stranger and Naomi to turn their attention to him.

"No. I am…" The shadow-veiled man hesitated. "What I am."

A strange noise split the silence. The sound of bending metal and some sort of popping. The figure stepped forward into the pool of moonlight. Naomi could see him, at least his outline; he was tall, broad-shouldered, and was obviously a priest, as he donned a black habit. Naomi watched, stunned, as the knife retreated - no, it was being absorbed - into his chest.

Father Scott apparently knew more than Naomi did regarding this stranger, for he said, "I'd heard of your kind, when I was still Terran. I'd heard that a sect at the Vatican headquarters in Rome kept a monster. They unleashed him whenever they had problems beyond the scope of what mortals can handle. It's you, isn't it?"

The black-robed priest cocked his silver head. "AX. The Arcanum Cella ex Dono Dei. My boss hates scandals - she wouldn't want news getting out that a priest had turned. That's why she sent me."

Naomi watched, frozen, as a crimson, double-bladed scythe manifested in the stranger's hand. He lifted it high into the air.

Father Scott's eyes widened and he shrieked in outright terror, "You're Caterina's beast! The Crusnik-!"

"Close your eyes," the stranger said to Naomi. It was a command, one that she could not disobey. The stranger's voice had deepened somewhat, had become more husky.

Father Scott broke out of his frozen stance and hurried to Naomi, breaking her bonds with one fell swoop of his hand, and yanked her to his chest. She let out a surprised cry. He spun her round so that she was facing the stranger, his hand grasping her throat.

"Make one more move and she dies!" Father Scott hissed.

"Let her go. She has no part of this."

"Don't do it!" Father Scott cried as the stranger took a single step towards them. "I will kill her! Her blood will be on your hands!"

This made the stranger stop in mid-step. "Let her go, Alexander. I will not tell you a third time."

Father Scott was not stupid enough to challenge this monster's orders a third time. He threw Naomi to the ground. She hit the marble with a dull thud and, before either she or the stranger could stop him, the Methuselah disappeared into the dark recesses of the cathedral.

The stranger approached Naomi, his boots falling softly on the cold marble. He knelt down before her - he could sense that the Methuselah was still in the vicinity, and that he was hiding like a frightened animal.

"Are you all right?" His voice was soft and calm again.

"Y-yes…I'm all right…" She wondered whether she was hoarse. Her wrists were bruised and sore from the fetters, and she rubbed them. "Who are you?"

"Father Abel Nightroad," he answered, looking her over for any signs of injury. "What's your name?"

Whether he was asking out of genuine curiosity or attempts to keep her calm, she did not know, nor did she care. "Sister Naomi Kent."

"Well, Sister Kent, we're going to have to get you out of here."

"I have nowhere else to go."

"I can make arrangements to find you somewhere safe. Don't worry about that."

"She's not going anywhere!" Father Scott cried out from the pulpit. He had returned. "Not her! She's the rarest of all jewels!"

"Sister Kent, hide," Abel murmured to her, keeping his eyes on the Methuselah.

She nodded and rose shakily to her feet, then took off into the darkness. Father Scott tensed as if to go after her, but a strong hand grabbed his throat in a vice-like grip and pinned him to the wall behind the altar.

"You will not touch her!" Abel hissed.

Father Scott grinned, despite his fear and current predicament. "You've not smelled or tasted her blood! She is neither Terran nor Methuselah! Her kind is legendary!"

"I don't care - you are never to touch her again!"

The Methuselah made to reply, but his eyes widened in fear. Abel's appearance had changed now. His silver hair was unbound, flowing around his head like a halo. His lips were blackened, and his skin was even paler than it had been. His eyes glowed red in the darkness. The scythe appeared in his hand again, and Father Scott could see it was not of metal, but blood.

The howling winter wind drowned out Father Alexander Scott's final scream.


	3. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: I own only Naomi and any other characters that do not appear in the canon. Canon (c) Yoshida et al._

* * *

Chapter 2

"You can come out now," Abel said softly after a few moments of deafening silence. His head turned to the right, where he knew Sister Kent had concealed herself in the shadows of the pews.

Sure enough, she rose from her hiding place, obviously shaken, and save for the cut above her breast, she was unharmed. In the darkness, her blood created a small, dark stain on her torn habit.

"Is he…?" Her voice trailed as she approached the priest, almost afraid to look down at the man she had once regarded with daughterly affection.

"I'm afraid so," Abel replied, a rueful tone edging his voice. "My mission was accomplished."

She stared at him, his gently shadowed profile, his silver hair and glasses glinting in the cold moonlight. "You were sent here to kill him?"

He did not answer.

"Are you an assassin, then?"

"I am…" He paused, as if searching for the right words. "A weapon." This revelation seemed to startle even him, as if he had just registered this for the first time. His features creased as if in pain.

"Surely…surely you're more than that."

"I am what I am. That's all I can tell you." He heaved a sigh as he looked reverently up at the intricately carved crucifix hanging above the altar and crossed himself. He returned his attention to the Methuselah on the floor, who lay dead in a dark, shimmering pool of his own blood. "For your crimes on this earth, you are sure to be damned. Nonetheless, I will say a prayer on your behalf."

The prayer he whispered was in Latin, and she could understand only a few words. It was a beautiful prayer nonetheless, sincere in its reverence and sadness. She frowned, and longed to place a hand on his shoulder as a gesture of comfort.

Before she could gather the courage to do so, however, he straightened and smiled softly at her. In the moonlight, she could see the mist of sorrow behind the striking, bluish silver of his eyes.

"Well, then," he said with feigned cheerfulness, "perhaps we should get you out of here, yes? Unless you wish to stay."

She shook her fair head. "I don't want to stay. I have no one left."

His tone and countenance were gentle. "No one?"

"He picked off the clergy one by one," she murmured, her voice beginning to tremble with the onslaught of tears. "He was saving me for last, but I believe I've been a target for some time."

"Why do you think this is?"

"He was one of only two people who…well, who truly know me," she answered, finally gaining the courage to look down at the corpse. She quickly averted her eyes. "My best friend left the convent two years ago. The last I heard, she had married a noble. He is not very fond of the Church, but he adores her, and they're both very happy."

Abel gently placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her down the aisle, out of the church, and into the churchyard. He draped his heavy black robe about her shoulders. He knew that at least one other agent, or at least one of the Vatican's allies from the area, would be arriving shortly to dispose of the body. Naomi did not need to see it. "Your friend's name. What is it?"

"Hadassah."

"Was she a nun as well?"

"No. She was never one for the veil," she replied with a hint of fondness. "She always longed for the world outside the convent walls. Hadassah found out who I am, when we were children, and she was always so protective of me. I love her like a sister, and as much as it saddened me to see her leave, I'm glad she did. I don't know if I would've been able to handle seeing her as another victim." Her eyes began to mist with tears as the images began to creep into her consciousness.

He squeezed her hand comfortingly. "And what was your relationship like with Father Scott?"

"He was the only father I'd ever known, if you'll excuse the pun." A soft smile crossed her lips, and he found himself mirroring it. "He was always so kind to me, so gentle. I knew that I could turn to him for guidance if I needed it. He was a great teacher in the ways of the faith. The laity held him in very high regard. When he found out about me, about who I am, he, aside from Hadassah, was the only one who did not see me as a monster or abomination."

A strange, knowing look passed over Abel's face at the last, but if she noticed it, she did not acknowledge it.

"He started eyeing me in a strange way two months ago, before he was turned."

"How so?"

"He looked at me in a different way. He used to look upon me with kindness and even fatherly affection, but a month before he turned, he looked at me hungrily, like a tiger eyeing its prey."

"Did you know he had turned before tonight?"

"Yes. I could sense it. His presence was different. It was…malevolent. I know there are Methuselah who are good, just as there are Terrans who are bad, but I knew he had changed." She absent-mindedly pulled his cloak tighter around her shoulders.

"I'm very sorry this has happened to you," he said after a moment, looking at her with utmost sincerity.

"I want to leave this place. I don't want to stay in Londinium anymore." She turned her eyes to his. "You said you're from the Vatican?"

"Ah…yes, I am."

"Take me with you."

He blinked. "W-what?"

"Please. I don't want to stay here. The least I can do is repay you for saving my life-"

"You don't need to repay me."

"Whether I need to or not, I want to. I want to give back in whatever way I can."

"Sister Kent-"

"Father Nightroad, please." She moved to settle on her knees before him, grasping his gloved hands and looking up at him in supplication. "Please, take me with you. Take me to the Vatican and let them put me where they will. But I cannot return to St. Patrick's."

He gently grasped her arms over the robes and raised her up. He was cold, and his breath was visible in the icy night air, but he ignored it all. His eyes met hers, and he said calmly, "If you insist, I will take you to the Vatican. I can make no guarantees about where they will place you, however. I have passage back to Rome on the _Tristan_. If you like, I can find a way to secure your passage as well."

She nodded. His hands were warm and deceptively strong on her arms, and she found herself rather enjoying the sensation. "That's all I want."

His grip loosened ever so slightly. "The ship leaves in a few hours. We had best make our way to the station. If you have anything you need, I can accompany you back into the church so you can get it."

She nodded again, and he followed her back into the cathedral, though he noted she used a side entrance rather than the main sanctuary. They melted into the cold darkness of the corridor, but it was only a moment before she paused at a door and opened it.

The room inside was simple, but comfortable. It was a bedroom, consisting of only a bed, a table with two chairs, a nightstand, an armoire, a full-length mirror on one wall, and a bookshelf. She turned her head to glance at him, as if inviting him into her quarters. With some slight trepidation, he accepted her invitation and came to stand at the center of the room while she retrieved a suitcase and began to pack.

She did not have very many possessions, and as such it took her only a few moments.

"I'm ready," she said at length. She had gotten a heavy robe out of the armoire, and handed his back to him. He accepted it and put it on.

"Very well, then," he answered with a soft smile. "Let's go."


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The walk to the airship port was not quite as long as Abel remembered. Naomi walked at his side, the heels of her boots clicking on the icy cobblestone. Ancient buildings towered above them, casting them in their shadows. Small drifts of snow lined the curbs, and a fresh veil was beginning to gently drift down from the velvet blackness above them.

"Are you cold?" Abel asked suddenly.

Naomi, who had been absorbed in her own thoughts, broke from her reverie. "No, I'm fine, thank you."

They eventually reached the entrance of the port, which strongly resembled a train station. There was still some time before the ship arrived, Abel noted as he glanced at a clock on a nearby wall. They walked to a bench near the end of the platform and sat down. The wrought metal proved to be quite a shock to their systems when they initially sat down.

"Are you all right? I know tonight has been…" Abel trailed off, unable to finish the thought. He felt genuinely sorry for this woman, whose entire world had been turned upside down in a month, and to be attacked by a Methuselah….

"I'll be all right," she answered, drawing her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. "I just…need time to process all of this, I suppose. I don't think it's fully kicked in yet, the enormity of what's happened to me. That's normal, isn't it?"

"Well, you've had quite a shock. People handle it in different ways." His voice was tender and soft, as was his expression.

She looked up at him, and now that they were in a full-lit area, she had a better opportunity to observe him. She knew he was tall, and underneath the habit he was slender. Behind the glasses he wore, his eyes were a beautiful shade of slate blue, and his silver hair was tied back with a black ribbon. She had to confess, if only to herself, that he was not unattractive.

_Handsome would be a better word, _she thought, pink creeping into her cheeks.

"Sister Kent?"

She started, then quickly averted her eyes when she realized she had been staring. "I'm sorry - I didn't mean to stare."

He blinked. "Is there something on my face?"

"No! No, your face is fine." She looked down at her hands, which had been folded in her lap, and began to wring them nervously. "I mean it's perfect! I mean…there's nothing on your face."

She looked up and saw that he was smiling at her, but she noted that the smile just barely reached his eyes.

"No need to be flustered," he said. "You just caught me by surprise, that's all."

"It was incredibly rude of me, I'm sorry."

"It's all right." He sounded more amused than offended, which prompted her to relax, if only slightly.

"Father?"

He had closed his eyes, but opened them again and looked at her. "Hm?"

"Is everything okay? You seem…distracted."

He hesitated before answering, "Everything's fine, Sister Kent."

He could never bring himself to tell her. She had been through enough, and he did not want to add to her grief. His sins were his alone, and only he could atone for them. She was innocent, and he could not taint her. She was looking at him with complete trust and concern - and it broke his heart.

"If something's bothering you, please tell me."

He was surprised by this, and he made no move to conceal his surprise. She must have noticed it, for she looked at him with a soft, caring expression, and she placed her hand over his.

"Being here for you is the least I can do," she said quietly. "I admit that I don't know much about you other than your name and your occupation, but please, don't be afraid."

_Don't be afraid._

Those words echoed in his mind, sounding so foreign to him that he had to take a moment to process the implications. However, he brushed the hurricane of thought away. It was simple for her to say such things - she admitted herself that she knew next to nothing about him. If she truly knew him, she never would have said it. She would be no different from the others.

"That's easier said than done, I'm afraid," he answered with a sad smile.

"I know it is. Believe me, I know that better than you may think, but how can you live your life without letting at least one person in?"

"You can save yourself a lot of grief that way."

"But your burdens are much too heavy for you to carry on your own."

He looked at her, eyes widened. "H-how do you know?"

"I can see it in your eyes every time I look at you. You carry a heavy burden, you're hiding so much sadness and pain. Even if it isn't me, let someone help you carry it all."

He sighed. "Sister Kent-"

"Please, call me Naomi, at least in private."

He could not suppress a smile. "Naomi. Your words are touching, but believe me when I say, the burdens I carry I would not wish on my greatest enemy, much less someone like you."

"Even so…let me help you."

He shook his head. "This is something that you cannot help me with."

She made to protest, but at length she sighed in submission. Perhaps, one day, he would see that she knew better than he anticipated. He had been so kind to her, so gentle and warm. The pain in his eyes broke her heart, and she wanted nothing more than to at least help alleviate that pain.

For some time they sat in silence, until a low hum high above the port began to reverberate through the platform.

"Here comes our ride," Abel said, looking up into the winter night sky. He looked down at her and offered her his hand.

She did not hesitate to take it.


End file.
